In another twist involving the public protector’s office‚ the Minister of Co-operative Governance an.
The last time I went to a salon, someone fancied me.
It gave me the creeps. I had gone to have a chiskop haircut, and someone had talked me out of doing it at my favourite barber, who works in a tiny rickety shack. He has no running water, uses one clipper for all his customers and stacks our hair in one ugly lump inside a box in the corner. He charges R6.
For reasons of "hygiene", I was convinced to switch to a salon, where, unfortunately, this fellow kind of liked me too much for my comfort.
I should have picked it up when he responded to my greeting in a musical "hellooo", which is a bit unusual to say when the other man says "heita".
I declare outright that I am not homophobic. In fact, some of my best friends are gay. Huh.
Point is: there's nothing wrong with being gay. Just don't fancy me, and I promise I won't fancy you back.
That said, I felt goose-bumps when this man who was supposed to just cut my hair started fondling the back of my neck with his baby-soft left hand while the right worked the clipper.
He asked me why I was "so scarce". I don't remember what I mumbled in response, but he proceeded to ask, in a polite whisper, if I could call him or even pick him up when he knocked off.
The clipper worked excruciatingly slowly on my head and he pressed his crotch too tightly against my side.
I pretended to want to scratch the side to ward him off a little, but it did not help because then he stopped to give me time to scratch, and started all over again. Soft hands, crotch on my side, bullshit proposition - oh Lord, why did Thou forsake me?
I have always counselled my girls to learn to say no, firmly. Everything inside me screamed "no bloody ways", but I was stupefied and just said: "Well . eish . we'll see."
After what seemed like an eternity, he washed my head and wrapped it lovingly in a towel to dry. By then there were other customers in the queue and the salon owner had just arrived, so I felt a bit safe.
Next time I am going back to my shack operator. The place is a dump and he talks crap, but I can take it.
The last time he told me people should vote for JZ because he had promised that when he became president he was going to make transport free and cut the price of food.
All the children who wanted to study abroad would have every expense paid for by the government, which would even find schools overseas for them.
The only problem, he said, was that JZ wanted to free all prisoners and give everyone a fresh start. That, my shack barber says, will not sit okay with victims of crime and they would take the law into their own hands.
I like my barber - and he does not fancy me.